The Black Narcissus

From the classical, ladylike, put-together era of the late 1950’s, Jasmal, designed especially for the late Natalie Wood, is the effervescent, floracious, jasmine-imbued remake of Diorissimo.

While of similar breeding and olfactory structure, this beautiful perfume by Creed is however quite breathless: spinning, effortlessly almost, out of control.

Where Diorissimo breathes refinement – not a hair out of place in that ice blonde, well-kempt chignon– Jasmal is a romantic, hopeless; a hectic matriarch chasing her children around the house, hair come loose;  breathless, heart-pounding, and laughing –  perhaps just that little bit too hard…..

Kathmandu: Hindu temple, the Himalayas.

A ‘sacred’ aged patchouli from India; black pepper absolute, Peru Balsam, opoponax; vetiver; a musky shade of ambrette, and a story too….

Etat Libre d’Orange intends Nombril Immense (‘Giant Navel’) to be a study in humanity, an ‘initiatory voyage to discover new emotions and an open-mindedness to unprecedented spirituality,’ the enormous belly-button of the name, this nombril immense,  ‘leading the way to shedding one’s mortal coil…… to accessing timelessness’…….

And with such a precept, our appetites are surely whetted.

What will this smell like?

Will it really be ‘the smell of bliss’?

The answer, unexpectedly, is a qualified yes.

There is indeed something impossibly human about this scent; a bodily, skin-musked closeness evoking wise young mothers in their saris, and children, smitten, under their skirts; the fondness you feel for a lover in his week-worn cardigan. Families, close-knit; the coiled incense of afternoon smoke.

What the perfume achieves so well is an open-heart expansiveness, an ancient feel from the specially aged patchouli used that does, somehow, denote peace, love and spirituality. If I myself am uncomfortable in its unwashed tenderness, I can fully see why there are some who claim to have found their holiest of holy grail patchoulis.  In Hindu culture, when a father returns home from a long journey, and he is greeted by his children, the first thing he does is smell his child’s head. This is that smell.

Nuit Noire is a shocking perfume.

If you are uninitiated in the work of Orio, please remember this before you try it; then the top notes – the most feral, urinous, and  sexualized flower absolutes I have smelled – might not make you topple over in panic, losing your precious balance. Which is a very real possiblity, as Nuit Noire – a powerful, orientalist evocation of a hot night in Tunis – is most definitely not for the delicate of constitution. What ends as a sophisticated and intriguing leather floral begins, triumphantly, with a concentrated tuberose, cardamon and very indolic orange flower (a polite way of saying faecal), that for the first few seconds is almost unbearably graphic. One’s olfactory mechanisms blush accordingly; you may well flinch.

Essentially, with this unusual perfume we have the usual seduction in reverse. With a blinding orgy of sex organs and flower stamens we climax immediately.

Post orgasm, the sweat cools, the world fades back in, and we find ourselves serene and languorous, smoking post-coital cigarettes. Outside, the sounds and smells of Tunisia drift in.

I love scents with hidden facets; secret folds; a sense of nether, and this obscure scent from Balenciaga’s disco-age is one such creation.

A boudoir: The Hunger: Susan Sarandon tumbling in vampiric ecstacy with her girl-lover in wind-blown drapes; billowing filigrée, tulle; soft-focused, kohl-eyed, endless trails of honey-white curls…..

Apparently inspired by Cristobal Balenciaga’s favourite model of the 70’s, Michelle is suggestive, soft, with filthy underbelly, all concealed beautifully in a masquerade of big-eyed, girlish innocence. The main accord – peach/aldehydic, leafy floral of tuberose, orchid and gardenia, is similar in some ways to Paco Rabanne’s Métal (which also debuted in 1979), but in Michelle there are no harsh edges; all is willowing, dreamy; whispers of illicit, powdered musks and dusky coconut hollows. It is alluring, disturbing, and one of my very favourite tuberoses.

This morning I woke up and knew that the Shalimar thing couldn’t continue. For the party tonight I wanted to smell a bit macho, and yet I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted at that moment,  so I took in my bag with me up to Tokyo my Ungaro, Grey Flannel, and Eau de Campagne just in case the Shinagawa flea market didn’t yield.

I left naked today. Unscented. Strange for me, but I just wanted to see how I felt when I got there, knowing that at the market there might be something ( or nothing ); and so we walked down the hill, Duncan in his Parfums D’Empire Eau De Gloire ( which I think I like:  it is at the very least emotive: and evocative of something): me bizarrely blank canvassed (this is VERY rare), wanting to take the day as it came….

I haven’t been to the flea market for a while, but lord that place excites me, always, just in case. And today I got a vintage N°19 parfum for 1000 yen (ten dollars) – my favourite perfume – so was yippy aye ey-ing about quite happily as I also came across a beautiful stop-watch (pictured, with the aforementioned Chanel)…………………I have no interest whatsoever in timepieces but for some reason it grabbed me;  I had to have it, and I really love it for some reason. I feel something from it, something quite strong. ……

I also, ridiculously, found a LADY GAGA SINGING TOOTHBRUSH.

WTF I hear you cry, and exactly, and so I had to have it, though it is a bit loud for night time use, a bit too stimulating (at the party we went to, the fact that the toothbrush was playing music louder than the mini stereo system they had on produced quite the hilarity), and as for perfume, well, I stumbled upon a bottle of The Perfumer’s Workshop’s  Tea Rose (1975) for nothing, vintage it looked, but who cares when it smelled so instantly rosy and perfect and thus the plan was set: five minutes from the house which we eventually reached I sprayed on tons of the stuff plus Ungaro, and ooh was it good: a bit Arab; splendid, engorged, the dirty rose lavender patchouli of the Emanuel playing off rather nicely I must say with the preciously fresh rose petals of the Rose (seriously, for those of you who need a simple, straight, unpretentious red rose perfume this is PERFECT)……..

‘How do I smell? ‘ I asked.

‘Like an echo chamber’ said Duncan……………… ‘heady’ (and that was enough for me….

– and worried though I was that I would stink the place out, people at the party did seem to like it…… )

An interesting place, actually. On the top floor, and they had this West Side Story like fire escape, from which I took this picture. There was a piece of metal sticking out which produced an odd reflection. But I think you can feel the enjoyable atmosphere of the place, the neighbourhood.

god I love Tokyo.